I like to write junk...

JAILHOUSE CAFE

“I never got my dream off the ground, but still think of it each time I drive down Highway 95 and see that old building.”

I see that another restaurant in Havasu is closing, with Northside Grill being the latest. Over the years, this has been quite common for various reasons. Rents can increase, or owners are ready to retire with no one coming along to take things over. Sadly, in the case of Scotty’s Broasted Kitchen, Scotty passed away, and the family chose to close the business.

I’m told by former owners that starting a restaurant or café is one of the toughest new businesses to enter. This is because it requires owners to be there before opening and after closing, and having to know all facets of the operation, from dishwashing to cooking.

These long hours go along with managing high food and labor costs, thin profit margins, changing customer demand, constant employee turnover, food spoilage and waste, strict health and safety standards, and intense competition, all while making sure customers receive quality food, fast service, and a positive experience every time they visit.

Owning and operating a restaurant is widely recognized as an incredibly high-stress profession. Chronic stress, poor sleep, and the physical demands of the industry put many owners at a higher risk for cardiovascular disease, gastrointestinal issues, and mental health struggles like anxiety and burnout.

I almost entered the restaurant business here in town without knowing a thing about any of the above. My background was in automotive, and there’s a big difference between turning wrenches and working in food service. My idea would’ve still been successful mainly because I had a unique theme.

In 1991, Joleen and I purchased the old Lake Havasu City Police Department building from the owner. The police had moved out, and the building was unoccupied, yet it still had jail cells and a maze of rooms and cubicles. I had two ideas for it: first, a laundromat, with my ultimate plan being to open the Jailhouse Café.

Our two children were still in school in Anchorage, and my wife was working, so I asked for a vote after we prayed about things on whether we should make the move then. It was three to one that the family stayed put until the kids graduated.

Needing some revenue from the old building, I begrudgingly stripped it with the help of Ron Claspill and others, turning square footage into leasable commercial space. My Jailhouse Café idea vanished with the removal of the heavy bars. I believe that Dub Campbell might’ve ended up with the doors. An original brass key on a large loop was given to the LHPD for their memorabilia collection.

It’s probably for the best I didn’t go into business, because I eventually found out I don’t like stress. Owning a café, undoubtedly, would create a ton of it. I was perfectly happy just dabbling in real estate, but even that didn’t turn my crank as it once did. This was about the time I started writing, and I found it quite stress-relieving, almost as much as working on projects in the garage.

I’d love to see a Jailhouse Café in Lake Havasu City, and perhaps one day that’ll become a reality. It needs to be in a freestanding building, like our old one at 296 London Bridge Road, which is now occupied by a pawn shop and hair salon. We sold that property after I tired of managing things.

Authentic jail cells could easily be constructed using round wood dowels. I know that’s possible because if you look closely at jail scenes in old westerns, most of them, if not all, are made of wood.

For my café, I already had the premier breakfast named. It’d be called ‘The Sheriff’s Special’ with a plate full of vittles as Granny liked to call them. Longtime viewers of “The Beverly Hillbillies” will know what I’m talking about.

Pigs in a blanket would also be on the menu because that was one of my favorites from Leroy’s Pancake House in Anchorage. This fare consisted of three sausage links wrapped in a large pancake. It was delicious.

I never got my dream off the ground, but still think of it each time I drive down Highway 95 and see that old building. Writers are perhaps bigger dreamers than anyone, and to me, that thought alone is still very satisfying.

One of my biggest heroes is a man named Colonel Norman Vaughan. Colonel Vaughan was on the Antarctic mission to the North Pole with Admiral Richard Byrd. He climbed a mountain named after him in his late 90s.

Norman gave a group of us at a book signing the following advice: “Dream big and dare to fail!” I suppose I did on this venture, but in the big scheme of things, where having time to write is concerned, failing might’ve been the best thing to ever happen to me from a health perspective!

Waiter behind counter in diner serving plates, smiling at customers

EYES WIDE OPEN

“I’ve observed this several times with couples divorcing and then marrying their ‘soulmates,’ as it’s often erroneously called.”

Older man leaning on fence holding hands with younger woman in countryside

I’ve visited and lived in Lake Havasu City long enough to see some sad things happen, especially with marriages. This occurred not only among younger couples but also older ones.

Distractions seemed to be the biggest factor, though neglect played a significant role as well. When I say distractions, I mean that the grass is not always greener on the other side of the fence.

I’ve observed this several times with couples divorcing and then marrying their “soulmates”, as it’s often erroneously called. Only after a short time do they find that their precious soulmate is a loser.

Alcohol and drugs are another reason for divorce, with husbands and wives overindulging here, and these stimulants making them do and say things they normally wouldn’t. Domestic violence is the byproduct, and we hear and read about this all the time.

Our local police waste more time answering domestic violence calls than perhaps any other, besides e-bikes. This is a dangerous situation for them, as both parties can quickly turn on law enforcement.

The relationship between alcohol and drugs and domestic violence is significant, as substance abuse often leads to impaired judgment and aggressive behavior, increasing the likelihood of violent incidents within homes.

When individuals overindulge in alcohol or drugs, they may act in ways they normally wouldn’t, resulting in conflicts and escalated tension in relationships. This happens daily throughout the US.

This pattern can create a cycle of abuse, where the consequences of substance misuse lead to further emotional and physical harm, ultimately straining the family dynamics and contributing to a toxic environment.

Years ago, in our neighborhood, we had a young couple going through this ritual, arguing verbally, with the wife often knocking on our door for help. She sometimes had bruises on her face and body. The husband was downright dangerous when intoxicated, yet a real gentleman when sober.

This couple eventually split the sheets, and I still bump into the ex-husband on occasion. He gives me a stern look but never says a thing, evidently still harboring a grudge that Joleen and I helped out his spouse when he’d threatened to kill her. In this case, the woman did the right thing in leaving him before the guy actually did.

The following short poem traces the life of another such couple, with names changed and other personal details omitted. In this situation, things turned out for the good only because of divine intervention.

This was an exception because, as far as I recall, all other marital dilemmas I encountered had a continuing theme of excessive alcohol use and abuse, with them separating and then days later getting back together. The saga constantly repeated itself.

Some might claim that I’m preaching here, but for me, I simply try to go through life with a clear mind and eyes wide open.

“Eddie moved to Havasu in the summer of ’94.

He was a recently retired manager at Montgomery Wards.

Took his big pension and bought a house, speedboat, and pricey cars.

After 40 years of work, he thought he deserved much, much more.

*****

Eventually, the juice went up, including gas, trash, and water.

His wife then got extremely hot under the collar.

Especially when hubby made her take a job at Family Dollar.

While he stayed home, downing beers with good friend, Roger.

*****

Over time, Ed was forced to sell his many pristine toys.

Even a bright red 1961 Corvette, his pride and joy.

Ann soon met an ex-con from Joliet, Illinois.

A snowbird, he sweet-talked her into cutting the cord.

*****

Eddie was left with an old house falling apart.

And a 2006 Grand Cherokee that would barely start.

Seeing the ill of his ways, he let Jesus change his heart.

Back on his feet, Ed gave up drinking, which was more than smart.

*****

Before long, the wife returned, and Eddie took her back.

Both now go to church, singing songs, free from the past.

It’s obvious to me that this marriage will finally last.

No thanks to Budweiser, but through the healing grace of Jesus Christ.”

Colossians 3:13-14

Couple sitting on a towel on a sandy beach near a lake with boats and mountains behind them.

HAVAFAD?

“A fad is something that becomes very popular for a short time and then quickly goes out of style.”

Older women exercising with hula hoops in Rotary Park on a sunny day

I’ve seen a lot of fads come and go in my lifetime, with hula hoops being number one, along with roller blades. I took part in both and found them fun for a short time, until the excitement faded.

Unable to conquer a hula hoop, the device was rolled to a nearby trash receptacle and slam-dunked, while the roller blades were tossed when a fastening device broke. They were cheap ones to begin with.

Nehru jackets were a fad in the 60s, made famous by the Beatles. Tight-fitting clothes weren’t my bag back then, and still aren’t, although I’ve threatened to start wearing spandex shorts and shirt along with some “bling” around my neck. I observed an old codger sporting such at Rotary Park beach. My wife laughingly called it trolling, but I don’t know what he was trolling for.

A fad is something that becomes very popular for a short time and then quickly goes out of style. People often follow a fad because it seems exciting or trendy at the moment. For example, a game that everyone wants to play for a few years, then forgets about, is a fad.

Paintball comes to mind here. Will pickleball become a fad? Only time will tell. Another example is a dance challenge that becomes popular for a short time before disappearing. Limbo is a prime example.

Smoking started as a popular pastime and, for many, was tied to social status and cultural identity. In the early to mid-20th century, it was heavily marketed and glamorized in films, advertising, and among celebrities. The 1942 movie “Dancing in the Rain” featured a line of choreographed dancers smoking on stage. Each time I see it, I crack up.

This Hollywood promotion contributed to its widespread acceptance and popularity, making it seem like a fad. Thankfully, I never took part in this one as an adult, although I pretended to smoke and then eat my candy cigarettes as a kid. I remember them as being somewhat ‘chalky’ but good.

While it was once considered fashionable, smoking eventually became stigmatized, especially as bans were implemented in public spaces and smoking rates began to decline.

So, while smoking may have initially appeared as a fad due to its popularity and promotion, it turned into a significant public health issue. Today, smoking is less of a trend and more of a health concern, with many people seeking to quit or avoid smoking altogether. There was a time when adults would stand outside their workplaces, smoking and chatting. It was quite common to see.

Vaping has seemingly taken hold, with unconcerned users enjoying the effects of toxic, fruit-flavored chemicals on their lungs. I believe some find it “cool” to blow pathogen-contaminated vapor out of their vehicle windows.

I make sure my windows are rolled up when this happens. I’ve heard that vaping is far more harmful to the body than tobacco use. Of course, vape shop owners will totally disagree, and they should know.

Hacky sack used to be popular with young people, but I rarely see it being played anymore. For those that aren’t hip to the term, a hacky sack is a round sock stuffed full of sand that’s kicked from one player to the next. The object is for the hacky sack to never hit the ground. I’ve never played it, because to me, doing so looks stupid. I only say that to avoid offending anyone.

I thought some fads were on the comeback, because on occasion, during cooler months, I spotted a group of older women with hula hoops at Rotary Park. This was a couple of years ago, and I haven’t seen them since.

Did they stop as I finally did sixty years ago by disgustingly rolling their hoops over to a dumpster? I hope not, because it was fun to watch them try. I thought about joining in, but the thought of a disconnected and ulcerated pelvis stopped me short.

I’ve yet to see a group of similarly aged men standing in a circle playing hacky sack. This will probably happen for several reasons, one of which is that replacement knees and hips aren’t cheap.

They say that some people revert to their childhood ways as they get older. I’ve thought about trying another candy cigarette for memory’s sake, but couldn’t find any for sale in local stores. I believe back in the 50s and 60s, like real cigarettes, kids could buy a carton.

I’ve been waiting for the day when I’d spot a group of people standing outside their workplace vaping. Well, that finally happened, with at least four workers evidently on break, blowing steam that’d equal that of an early locomotive.

I sat in my Jeep, chuckling at how stupid it looked. It reminded me of a cartoon I recently saw on why dinosaurs became extinct. All they needed to finish off their act was a hacky sack. I only say that to avoid offending anyone.

Four warehouse workers standing outside, one kicking a ball while others vape and smile — Warehouse workers enjoy a casual break outside their workplace.

BLIND AS A BAT

“I’ve not seen any mules wandering the desert around Oatman.”

Donkeys walking freely on the dirt street of Oatman, Arizona, with wooden storefronts and visitors

I’ve heard the statement, “Blind as a bat!” many times, yet I have never come across “Blind as a mule.”

Mules and donkeys have long been used as pack animals in mining operations due to their strength, endurance, and ability to navigate rugged terrain. Historically, they’d carry heavy loads of rich ore and other materials in and out of mines, especially in areas where mechanized transport was impractical. When they were no longer needed, the poor beasts were released to fend for themselves.

One significant issue that arose from the use of these animals in mines is their susceptibility to developing blindness, particularly due to conditions encountered in dark, enclosed spaces.

The environment in mines can be harsh, with dust, debris, and limited light exposure, which can lead to various eye problems. In some cases, prolonged exposure to darkness and poor ventilation can cause health issues, including vision impairment.

Years ago, burros and mules were used in mines in Oatman and Gold Road, yet you seldom hear of the abuses they endured. Today, burros freely roam the Oatman area and are a favorite of locals and tourists. That wasn’t the case back in the 1920s, as this newspaper article from the June 23, 1922, “Arizona Daily Star” (Tucson) points out.

“Oatman, Ariz., June 10. Sixty blind mules, born and raised in the Gold Road mines, two miles from Oatman, were recently brought to the surface and liberated when electrical equipment installed in the mine made their services no longer needed.

The mules have been wandering the dangerous, winding roads in the canyons between Oatman and Kingman along the national highway used by all tourists coming to Arizona and California.

Several bad accidents recently caused the Oatman town authorities to give the mules coats of phosphorus paint so they can be seen in the dark. The mules can now be seen a hundred feet away.”

Town officials probably thought this was a smart thing to do back then, to reduce accidents, but their actions inflicted a slow torture on these animals. The following is just a short warning regarding luminous paint.

Placing paint containing phosphorus (specifically white phosphorus) on skin is extremely dangerous. White phosphorus can cause severe, deep chemical and thermal burns and can be absorbed into the system, potentially damaging the liver, kidneys, and heart.

I’ve not seen any mules wandering the desert around Oatman. Perhaps the phosphorus back then wiped out the entire population, although the burros are still plentiful. They’re still struck by vehicles, mostly at night, even though drivers are warned to slow down.

A lesson to be learned from the mistakes of early Oatman officials, is that harmless reflective collars should perhaps be placed on the remaining survivors instead of hazardous paint.

These collars weren’t available back then, and even if they were, it’s doubtful city leaders would spend the money on what they probably considered worthless animals at this point.

Even with these reflective collars, some folks will continue to hit the burros with their vehicles. “Blind as a bat” still has solid meaning, with a sizable number of drivers living proof. Sadly, we read about these people daily.

Five donkeys wearing reflective collars stand on a dark desert road at night facing a car with headlights on

“Arizona Daily Star” – Tucson – June 23, 1922

BARNACLE BILL

“Perhaps the renowned Dr. Brownstein should invent some magical elixir as he has for practically every other bodily ill.”

Elderly sailor wearing a navy sweater and leather jacket with anchor tattoo on hand sitting on sailboat deck with pipe — Barnacle Bill the Sailor

Twice a year, I make a pilgrimage to Arizona Desert Dermatology for Tammy to look at my face, back, arms, and legs for signs of skin cancer. She’s found a few pre-cancerous spots that were zapped with what I believe is liquid nitrogen. It’s best to catch them early before melanoma has a chance to rear its ugly head.

On the last couple of visits, I showed her a couple of bumps in my scalp that I wanted removed. Tammy said that they were “barnacles” and for me to leave them alone. She then zapped them with nitrogen, which will make the unwanted stowaways fall off.

I’d been scratching at the small, raised areas, making them bleed. I’ve only heard of this term from whales and other marine creatures, including rocks and boats. These marine entities accumulate barnacles when in the water for extended periods.

Barnacle Bill is a character from the traditional sea shanty “Barnacle Bill the Sailor.” The song is often associated with sailors and has a playful, humorous tone, typically depicting Bill’s adventures and misadventures.

I sang it as a kid, only remembering the first few lines of the original song from a movie. Some revised versions are beyond raunchy. In various interpretations, Barnacle Bill is portrayed as a rough-and-tumble sailor who has encounters with the sea, women, and the challenges of maritime life. Evidently, he had a barnacle dilemma that earned him that derogatory nickname.

The life of an early sailor was a hard one. Early sailors faced a multitude of hardships that made their lives challenging. One of the primary difficulties was the harsh environment at sea. They were often exposed to treacherous weather conditions, including storms, high winds, and rough seas, which could lead to shipwrecks or life-threatening situations.

Additionally, the living conditions on ships were typically cramped and unsanitary. Sailors had to deal with limited food supplies, mainly consisting of stale bread, salted meat, and other perishable rations.

Fresh water was also scarce, leading to dehydration and disease. The lack of proper nutrition resulted in health problems, including scurvy, caused by vitamin C deficiency.

Moreover, the social structure aboard ships could be strict and hierarchical, leading to a tough atmosphere. Sailors had to follow orders from their superiors, and discipline was often enforced harshly. The isolation from family and friends during long voyages added to their emotional burden.

I’m not sure how I ended up with barnacles, with Tammy saying it was inherent in certain people, especially older folks. There are all kinds of skin potions aimed at wrinkled skin, but I’ve never seen barnacle remover advertised on television. Perhaps the renowned Dr. Brownstein should invent some magical elixir as he has for practically every other bodily ill.

Where Barnacle Bill is concerned, it must’ve been hard for him to date women with the old sailor looking like an encrusted whale. I’m glad that my bumps came along long after I married my wife.

Telling a girlfriend, “Oh, those are just barnacles,” sounds like grounds for being dumped. Hopefully, my bumps will eventually fall off in the shower. I’d hate to be at a friend’s house and lose them.

Someone would invariably stoop down and ask, “Michael, are these barnacles yours?” In this case, I’d have to sheepishly reply, “No, not mine. Perhaps you should ask Bill!”

Humpback whale covered in barnacles swimming underwater with fish

DEM BONES

“Of course, with the price of beef these days, a single helping of ribs along with side dishes will be close to $30.”

Multiple motorboats with passengers cruising on a scenic river with arched stone bridge and rocky mountains

When I lived full-time in Alaska, one of my favorite places to eat was Sizzler Steakhouse. At one point, there were three locations in Anchorage alone. Sometime in the late 70s or early 80s, a television and radio commercial came out advertising all-you-can-eat barbecued ribs at Sizzler for $6.99.

The song or jingle that accompanied this advertisement went something like this: “Dem bones, dem bones, dem prime rib bones.” I cracked up each time that commercial came on.

All Sizzler restaurants in Alaska closed by the late 1980s. There was a Sizzler in Yuma when my family went there on vacation, yet it’s now shuttered as well. The closest Sizzler Steakhouse to Lake Havasu City is in Flagstaff, some 207 miles away.

Of course, with the price of beef these days, a single helping of ribs along with side dishes will be close to $30. I never ate the BBQ ribs, but I liked their steak. At this stage, with premium gas close to $5 a gallon, I’m not driving 400 miles round-trip to Flagstaff for a good Ribeye steak when Montana Steakhouse is 1.4 miles away.

Flagstaff may have a Sizzler, but we have something even better, ‘dem boats’. Boat season is fast upon us, and I drool each time I see one of those large high-horsepower babies being towed behind a monster truck. “Dem boats, dem boats, dem shiny big boats.”

Always carrying a camera in our vehicle, I’ve snapped many a photo of them fueling up at local gas stations and sent these pictures to my friends and family in Alaska. While Alaskans brag that the largest fish caught in Lake Havasu would make good bait in their state, they can’t one-up us in the mega speedboat department.

I snapped a photo of one offshore-type craft sporting five outboard engines. I believe the total horsepower was around 2,000. Fueling it one time would have me headed back to work to pay the bill. I suppose doctors, attorneys, and plumbers are the folks owning these expensive machines.

Several years back, when I was in Havasu on business, I had the opportunity to ride on one courtesy of an invite from Ron Claspill. Ron had a friend named Rusty who owned it. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the same Rusty of Rusty’s Café fame, although this guy once had red hair back in the day.

It was during a weekday, and we covered the whole lake from Topock to the dam in quick fashion, even taking time to stop on the California side for a burger and Coke. I got to take the helm for a few minutes, but never fully opened up the throttle.

During that excursion, a cheap pair of my sunglasses committed Jisatsu by leaving my head and jumping overboard. I was ever thankful that they weren’t Oakley’s.

Those cool boats will remain in town for several months, brightening the scenery with their vibrant colors, yet come October, they slowly begin to disappear as humongous land yachts start their pilgrimage west, towing ‘dinghies’ behind them. This is what RVers like to call their smaller shuttle vehicles.

The names Conquest, Nordic, Advantage, Domn8ter, and DCB will be replaced by Phaeton, Tiffin, Newmar, Prevost, Fleetwood, and Holiday Rambler. Captains of these land-based RVs are a much different breed from powerboat owners, with age being the biggest factor.

Despite a difference in age and machines they drive, along with music listened to, there’s one thing that powerboat and RV owners share alike: “Dem bones.” I’ve seen ribs being barbecued out on the lake on boats while the landlocked gang does the same near the front door of their homes on wheels.

When it comes to sizzling meat, the old and young both love to eat!

Group of people eating ribs and drinking on a pontoon boat on a lake — Friends enjoy ribs and drinks together on a pontoon boat at the lake

DUST to DUST

“Because Charles is deader than a mummified Egyptian, there are only two ways to prove they’re right.”

Silhouette of a cowboy walking in a desert at sunset with dust swirling around him — A cowboy dissolving into dust walks across a desert towards the glowing sunset.

Several years ago, I wrote a public piece jokingly advocating that Charles Darwin’s body be exhumed and sent to a lab for DNA analysis. I mentioned that I believed the results would show no direct relation to tadpoles, monkeys, or apes, although a correlation to dust would be found.

I was immediately besieged by harsh comments from scholarly critics who said I knew nothing about DNA. They were mostly right, as I understood little of the subject. I can’t remember DNA even being mentioned in my early 1970s high school biology classes.

I wasn’t a Biblical scholar back then and knew little of what I’d just written, other than it sounded logical. If anything, a song composed in 1976 spurred my idea forward as music sometimes does.

The song “Dust in the Wind” was penned by Evangelical Christian Kerry Livgren of the band Kansas. Its message reflects on the fleeting nature of life, the limits of wealth and achievement, and the reality that human accomplishments are temporary.

I believe that Livgren’s final message in this tune is that our bodies are made of dust and will return to it. For those questioning things, simply turn to Genesis 7:7 and 3:19, as well as Ecclesiastes 3:20. Kerry Livgren evidently knew these verses well. The next time you sing along with this song, remember the story behind it.

Evolution is something that some instructors tried to cram down my throat in my last years of public school, although in Alabama and Texas, not so much. These states were considered the Bible Belt back then and still are. Liberal ideology had infiltrated the curriculum in Alaska, and NEA officials, along with selected teachers, spoon-fed it to students. I was one of those who regurgitated.

As young parents, and with our eyes wide open, my wife and I elected to send our children to Christian schools, while at the same time still having taxes taken from our pay for public school. It was tough, but we paid double for their education through all 12 years without complaining. We believe it paid off as they avoided the secular brainwashing.

I did some studying on Charles Darwin to see what his religious beliefs were. Baptized and raised in the Church of England, Darwin at one point was headed toward becoming a clergyman. Somewhere along the way, he changed and became agnostic. Darwin died in 1882, some 144 years ago.

It is claimed by some that he recounted this viewpoint while on his deathbed. Those same scholarly critics who attacked me say this is poppycock because it sticks a dagger into their evolution theory. Because Charles is deader than a mummified Egyptian, there are only two ways to prove they’re right.

His body needs to be exhumed, DNA removed from it, with an attempt to clone his existence. Only then can we ask him. The only other way is to wait until we die.

If I find Charles Darwin in Heaven, I’ll know for sure that these anti-creation experts were wrong. Something tells me, ultimately, those evolution scholars might find that information not so gratifying, especially when they go looking for him elsewhere and discover Charlie is not there.

Sand dunes and blowing sand in a desert at sunset with a glowing sky and distant mountains

NICKEL & DIME

“Inexpensive toys were one of my favorite commodities.”

My mother had a saying that she often used on me when I was a child. “Michael, you’re going to nickel and dime me to the poorhouse!” What she meant was that I constantly pestered her for change for candy bars and soda pop, something that my brother and I self-weaned ourselves on as children. Nickel and dime has an entirely different meaning as well.

“Dime stores,” as we called them, were located in almost every decent-sized town. Woolworths had locations in Selma, Alabama, and in Lubbock, Texas. After we moved to Anchorage, Alaska, there was one on the notorious Fourth Avenue.

Lake Havasu City had a Yellow Front store in the London Bridge Shopping Center, which was pretty much the same. The current Family Dollar and Dollar General stores continue those early marketing principles.

Five-and-ten-cent stores—often called five-and-dimes, dime stores, or variety stores—were a major retail innovation in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. I’m sure this is where Mom got her saying.

They sold a wide range of inexpensive household goods, toys, notions, stationery, and seasonal items at fixed low prices, originally capped at 5 or 10 cents. The model became closely associated with Frank Winfield Woolworth and F.W. Woolworth Company, which helped popularize the format in the United States and abroad.

The roots of the format go back to the 1870s, when merchants began experimenting with bargain tables and fixed-price goods instead of the older practice of negotiated prices.

Frank Winfield Woolworth opened an early five-cent store in Utica, New York, in 1879, but it failed quickly; later that same year, he opened a more successful store in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and soon expanded the price ceiling to ten cents.

One of the most important innovations of these stores was that merchandise was placed where customers could see it and often handle it themselves, rather than relying entirely on clerks to retrieve goods from behind the counter. I’m sure thieves were happy to see the change.

By the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the five-and-dime had become a powerful chain-store model. Woolworth Co. expanded rapidly through volume purchasing, standardized layouts, eye-catching displays, and cash-and-carry sales.

By 1904, it had stores across many states, and by the 1910s and 1920s, the company had become one of the best-known retailers in the English-speaking world. A 1929 commemorative publication from the Library of Congress notes that the chain had grown to more than 2,100 stores in 1,500 cities across five countries by its fiftieth anniversary.

These stores mattered because they helped change how people shopped. Instead of going to several specialty merchants, customers could buy a wide range of everyday items in one place at predictable prices. Historians often treat the five-and-dime as an early form of the modern discount and mass-merchandise store. Inexpensive toys were one of my favorite commodities.

The model also encouraged self-service browsing, attractive packaging, category-based layout, and chain-store buying power—all features that later became standard in department stores, discount stores, and eventually big-box retailers.

Five-and-dimes also had an important place in social history. Woolworth lunch counters, for example, became nationally significant during the civil rights movement—most famously with the 1960 Greensboro sit-ins at a segregated Woolworth lunch counter in North Carolina. That episode made the chain part of a much larger story about public accommodations and desegregation in the United States.

The format declined in the mid-to-late 20th century. Inflation made strict nickel-and-dime pricing impossible, suburban shopping centers and supermarkets changed consumer habits, and discount giants offered even wider selections at competitive prices.

In the United States, the original Woolworth chain eventually closed its remaining U.S. variety stores in 1997, with the company shifting toward other retail lines and later becoming associated with Foot Locker.

By then, the classic five-and-ten had mostly disappeared, though its legacy lived on in discount stores, dollar stores, and other forms of low-price mass retailing.

Inflation has made it nearly impossible for Dollar General and Family Dollar to continue selling items for a buck. Most items are now $1.25 or higher. Hey, stamps are almost a dollar a pop, and they’ll eventually reach it.

Somewhere down the road, inflation will have these dollar stores, just like the nickel-and-dime stores from the past, changing signs. Family Two-Dollar isn’t that far away.

When that happens, sending folks to the poorhouse will become more than just a statement. The answer to the popular Capitol One credit card saying, “What’s in your wallet?” will be, “Not much!”

Customers entering and leaving Ten Dollar General store with sale signs — Shoppers enter and exit a Family Two-Dollar store on a bustling city corner.

RAMADA INN

“Nomenclature describes the hotel amenities and the presence of a championship 18-hole golf course right across the street.”

When we first came to Lake Havasu City, we stayed at the Holiday Inn on London Bridge Road. It’s now the Hampton Inn. On one occasion, we spent a few days at the Ramada Inn. That first Ramada is no longer there; the building was torn down, except for the front office. The Mohave County Senior Center is now located in the hotel’s former location.

An old Ramada Inn postcard mailed from the Lake Havasu City post office on September 18, 1972, was courtesy of the Ramada. A couple staying there, named Truman and Barb, mailed the card to Mr. & Mrs. M.J. Dodd in Litchfield, Connecticut. A short message says:

“Hi! – At the tail end of Truman’s vacation we decided to take Fri and Sat and see London Bridge. Fantastic place. I am fine now (in case you knew I wasn’t) Love – Truman and Barb”

I found it interesting that Barb referred to it as her husband, Truman’s vacation. This postcard has a picture of the London Bridge on back, along with someone skiing on the lake. Nomenclature describes the hotel amenities and the presence of a championship 18-hole golf course right across the street. I recall seeing golfers years ago playing that course, as many still try to do.

I bet Truman and Barb Terrell wished they’d purchased a few golf course lots in 1972. They could’ve turned an $80,000 investment into a million bucks. Alton Truman Terrell III passed away on April 28, 2020. Divorced from Truman in 1979, seven years after their trip, she preceded her ex-husband in death, passing away in 2016. A son, Truman Terrell IV, still survives.

The postcard recipients were Malcolm Joseph Dodd and his wife, Virginia. Malcolm was a major serving in the US Army during WWII. Virginia died in 2009, with M.J. dying some 15 years earlier in 1994. He was 75. Malcolm was a successful engineer who served as vice president of an aviation oil company.

The Mohave County Senior Center still thrives. This facility in Lake Havasu City, Arizona, serves as a valuable resource for the local senior community, offering various programs and services aimed at enhancing the quality of life for older adults. It’s a hub for social activities, educational workshops, and wellness programs designed to promote healthy living and community engagement.

The center typically features recreational activities, fitness classes, and opportunities for socialization, allowing seniors to connect with each other and stay active. Additionally, the facility may offer resources like assistance with meal programs, transportation services, and information on health and wellness, helping seniors navigate their needs in a supportive environment.

Next time I drive by this address, I’ll see things in a different light. It was once the location where my family and I rested our heads for a few nights, with the late Truman and Barb Terrell doing the same.

It’s also the spot where a wayward golf ball came down on top of our car. That perfectly round dent in the roof serves as a reminder that not all Havasu golfers are on the same level as an Arnold Palmer or Tiger Woods.

“GO SEE CAL”

“Everyone in Lake Havasu City knows the last name, Sheehy, or they should.”

Whenever I see the name “Cal,” I mainly think of four things. Calvin “Cal” Freeman is my brother-in-law. He lives in Kansas, and we visit him as often as we can. He’s a gearhead like me and has been a big help over the years in car and truck projects. Cal is close to retirement, so he should have plenty of time to finish his own rides.

Cal Sheehy is the mayor of Lake Havasu City, Arizona, and I’ve met him on several occasions. If Cal were to remember me for anything, it would be that I always remind him to have the police enforce our covered-load law. I’m not even sure we have such a law, but I remind him just the same.

Cal Worthington owned car dealerships in Southern California and Alaska. I never met him personally, yet I bumped into him a couple of times in restaurants. I always remember Cal Worthington as tall, wearing a white cowboy hat, with an attractive younger woman at his side. The late businessman’s advertising jingle, “Go see Cal,” is permanently etched into my brain.

Cal is also the nickname for California. I have a brother who lives there along with a sister-in-law and her husband. Cal (California) carries a negative stigma, largely due to corrupt government officials. I won’t go there because it’d take three newspaper pages to totally describe my feelings.

There are several other people in history named Cal, and I’ll touch lightly upon them. Calvin “Cal” Coolidge was the 30th president of the United States. Cal Ripken Jr. was a famous baseball player with the Baltimore Orioles. Cal Hubbard was an NFL linebacker. These three I’ve never met. It would’ve been impossible to meet Cal Coolidge because he’s been pushing up daisies long before I was born.

What brings me to the name “Cal” is someone I stumbled upon from the past: Marie Sheehy. When I saw her name on a 1913 postcard mailed from Maricopa, Arizona, to Arkansas City, Kansas, it piqued my interest. Everyone in Lake Havasu City knows the last name, Sheehy, or they should.

Arkansas City, Kansas, is a place I’ve been through, and I find the town name unusual. Marie Lulu Sheehy lived there for a short spell, although most of her years were spent in Lincoln, Nebraska. Is Marie Sheehy related to our Mayor Cal Sheehy? Only he can answer that for sure.

On the back of that June 17, 1913, picture postcard is a message from Marie’s friend, Vera King. It reads:

“Dearie – Monday – Am leaving Phoenix in the A.M. and expect to be in Los Angeles Wednesday A.M. Will drop you a card as soon as I get there. Don’t you wish you were with me? In another month or so I shall be on my way home I think. Lovingly, Vera.”

The picture on the front of the postcard shows an early-1900s touring car rolling past a giant saguaro cactus on the Apache Trail near the Superstition Mountains. It stands to reason that Vera could’ve been traveling by automobile from Phoenix to LA.

Marie was born on September 2, 1896. She had two brothers, Edward and Harold. The four sisters were Cecil, Nellie, Minnie, and Pearl. The children’s parents were Edward and Henrietta (Retta), who were farmers. Photos of Marie show her to be an extremely attractive young lady.

Raised in Catholic schools, Marie traveled extensively after graduation, according to brief newspaper accounts of her excursions. She had relatives in Arkansas City, so that’s why she visited there and eventually stayed for a short spell.

Most interesting to me was why Marie Sheehy never married. That question was answered when I found that she had joined the convent of the Order of Servants of the Holy Ghost in Techny, Illinois. In other words, Marie became a nun.

Marie died at the age of 83 on July 12, 1980. She’s buried in Lincoln, Nebraska, alongside her sister, Minnie. If Mayor Cal Sheehy is related to Marie, I have that old picture postcard. It’s his for the asking.